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ORATION 



DELIVERED 



ON THE FOURTH DAY OF JULY, 1835, 



BEFORE THE 



CITIZENS OF BEVERLY, 



WITHOUT DISTINCTION OP PARTY. 



BY EDWARD EVERETT 



PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 



^ iJoBton: 

RUSSELL, ODIORNE & CO. WASHINGTON ST. 

1835. 



!-<-'< J 




m\ 



ORATION 



DELIVERED 



ON THE FOURTH DAY OF JULY, 1835, 



BEFORE THE 



CITIZENS OF BEVERLY, 



WITHOUT DISTINCTION OF PARTY. 



BY EDWARD EVERETT 



PUBLISHED BY REQUEST. 




RUSSELL, ODIORNE & CO. WASHINGTON ST. 



1835. 



DUTTON AND WENTWORTH 
Printers, Boston. 






ORAT ION. 



When our fathers united in resistance to the op- 
pressive measures of the British ministry, a few only 
of the leading patriots, — and those principally of 
Massachusetts, — contemplated the establishment of 
an Independent Government. They were unani- 
mously determined to assert their rights, and to 
stand or fall in their defence ; but the mass of the 
people desired and expected a reconciliation. There 
is preserved a letter of Washington, written from 
Philadelphia, on the ninth of October, 1774, at 
which place he was in attendance, as a member of 
the first Revolutionary Congress. It is addressed to 
Captain McKenzie, an officer of the British army 
in Boston, with whom Washington had served in the 
former war. It probably gives the precise state of 
the feelings of the patriots, both in and out of Con- 
gress, with the exception of a very few bold, far- 
reaching, — and I might almost say inspired, — indi- 
viduals, who went far beyond their age, and knew 
that separation and independence were inevitable. 
It contains unquestionably the feelings and opinions 
of Washington himself. "I think," says he, "I can 



4 

announce it as a fact, that it is not the wish nor the 
interest of the government of Massachusetts, or any 
other government upon this continent, separately or 
collectively, to set up for Independence ; but this 
you may rely upon, that none of them will ever sub- 
mit to the loss of those valuable rights and privileges, 
which are essential to the inhabitants of every free 
state, and without which life, liberty, and property 
are rendered totally insecure.''* The address to 
the King, which was adopted by Congress a short 
time after this letter was written, contains the most 
solemn protestations of loyalty ; — and after setting 
forth in strong language the views entertained in 
America of the ministerial policy, it adds, "these 
sentiments are extorted from hearts, that would 
much more willingly bleed in your Majesty's ser- 
vice." 

I have no doubt these and numerous other like 
protestations were entirely sincere ; and I quote 
them to show, in the clearest manner, that the revo- 
lutionary struggle was a contest for principle, in 
which our fathers engaged with reluctance, and that 
the torch of Independence was not lighted at the 
unholy fire of personal ambition. But the measures 
of the British ministry were conceived in the lofty 
spirit of offended power, dealing with disaffected co- 
lonial subjects. The sovereign considered the pre- 

* Washington's Works, Vol. U. p. 401. In making this citation and to spare the 
necessity of multiplying similar references, I would here acknowledge my obliga- 
tions to Mr. Sparks' invaluable collection of the Writings of Washington, particu- 
larly to the Appendix to the second volume, for the greater portion of the histori- 
cal materials made use of in this Address. 



rogatives of majesty invaded. The crisis was be- 
yond the grasp of common minds. The government 
and people of England, — and perhaps I should add the 
people of America, — were unconscious that a state 
of things existed vastly transcending the sphere of 
ordinary politics. The heavens were full of the 
gathered/and condensed elements of power and re- 
sistance that had long been going up from the land 
and the water on both sides of the Atlantic. The 
clouds at length were overcharged ; art could not 
draw down nor the breath of conciliation scatter the 
slumbering fires; — nor kings nor cabinets avert the 
explosion. 

It was not possible, that the great controversy 
should be settled, by any ordinary mode of adjustment. 
A change in the British constitution, by which the 
colonies should have been admitted to a full repre- 
sentation in parliament, would probably have restor- 
ed harmony. But this was rejected even by the 
most enlightened friends of America in the British 
parliament. After alternate measures of inadequate 
conciliation and feeble and irritating coercion, the 
sword is drawn. The wound of which Chatham 
spoke, — the vulnus immedicabile, the wound for 
which in all the British Gilead there was not one 
drop of balm, — the wound, which a child, a mad- 
man, a thoughtless moment might inflict, and did in- 
flict, — a wretched project to knock the trunnions off 
a half a dozen iron six-pounders, and throw a few 
barrels of flour into the river at Concord, — this in- 
curable wound, which not parliaments, nor ministers, 



nor kings to the end of time could heal, — is struck. 
When the sun went down, on the eighteenth of 
April, 1775, England and America, inflamed as they 
were, might yet, under a great and generous consti- 
tutional reform, have been led by an infant's hand, in 
the silken bonds of union. When the sun rose on 
the nineteenth of April, hooks of steel could not 
have held them together. And yet, even yet, the 
hope of an amicable adjustment is not wholly aban- 
doned. The armies of America, under the com- 
mand of her beloved Washington, are in the field ; 
but near a month after he was appointed, another 
petition to the King, breathing the warmest spirit of 
loyalty, was adopted by Congress. But a twelve 
month passes by, — that petition is unavailing, — war, 
flagrant war, rages from Carolina to Maine, — the 
heights of Charlestown had already flowed with 
blood, — Falmouth is wrapped in flames, — seventeen 
thousand German troops, in addition to twenty-five 
thousand British veterans, are organized into an 
army destined to trample the spirit of the revolution 
into bloody dust, and the people of America are de- 
clared to be out of the protection, though subject to 
the power of the crown, abandoned to a free hunt, 
by all the dogs of war. It was then, that the hope 
of accommodation was abandoned ; and the cup of 
reconciliation, drained to its dregs, was cast away. 
A son of Massachusetts, to use his own language, 
"crossed the Rubicon." 

In the measures touching the final renunciation 
of allegiance to Great Britain, John Adams took the 



lead ; the first individual, as it seems to me, who 
formed and expressed a distinct idea of American 
Independence. In a letter written in the month of 
October, 1754, when he was himself but twenty 
years old, while France and her Indian allies stood, 
like a; wall of fire, against the progress of the Amer- 
icans -westward, he predicted the expulsion of the 
French from the continent, and the establishment of 
an independent government, on the basis of the 
union of the colonies, fortified by a controlling naval 
power. Such was the vision of Adams, before the 
open commencement of the war, which removed the 
French from the continent ; long before the new 
financial policy of Great Britain had woke the thun- 
ders of James Otis and Patrick Henry ; twenty-one 
years before the blood of Lexington was shed. For 
twenty-one years, at least, John Adams had cherish- 
ed the vision of Independence. He had seen one 
war fought through, in singular accordance with the 
destiny he had foretold for his country. He had 
caught and fanned the first sparks of patriotic disaf- 
fection. His tongue, — his pen, in thoughts that 
breathe and words that burn, had discoursed to the 
understandings and hearts of his fellow citizens. 
He had spurned the bribes of office ; he had burst 
the bonds of friendship ; and identifying himself, as 
w^ell he might, with his beloved country, he had said 
to the friend of his heart, — who unhappily differed 
from him in politics, — in the moment of their last 
separation : " I know that Great Britain has deter- 
mined on her system, and that very fact determines 



* 8 

me on mine. You know that I have been constant 
and uniform in opposition to all her measures. The 
die is now cast ; I have passed the Rubicon ; swim 
or sink ; live or die, with my country is my unal- 
terable determination.'' 

On the sixth of May, 1776, John Adams moved a 
resolution, in Congress, that the colonies, which had 
not already done so, should establish independent 
systems of government; and this resolution, after 
having been strenuously debated for nine days, pass- 
ed. The deed was done, — but the principle must 
be asserted. On the seventh of June, by previous 
concert, resolutions to that effect were moved by 
Richard Henry Lee, of Virginia, and seconded by 
John Adams of Massachusetts. They were debated 
in committee of the whole on Saturday the eighth, 
and again on Monday the tenth, on which last day, 
the first resolution was reported to the House, in 
the following form ; " That these united colonies 
are and of right ought to be, free and independent 
States ; that they are absolved from all allegiance to 
the British Crown ; and that all political connexion 
between them and the state of Great Britain is and 
ought to be totally dissolved." The final decision 
of this resolution was postponed till the first day of 
July, but in the meanwhile it was, with characteristic 
simplicity, resolved, in order '■Hhat no time be lost, in 
case the Congress agree thereto, that a committee 
be appointed to prepare a Declaration, to the effect 
of the first resolution." The following day, a com- 
mittee of five was chosen. Richard Henry Lee, 



who had moved the resolutions for Independence, 
and would of course have been placed at the head of 
the committee, had been obliged, by sickness in his 
family, to go home, and Thomas Jefferson, of Virginia, 
the youngest member of the Congress, was elected 
first on the conunittee in his place. John Adams 
stood second on the committee ; the other members 
were Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, and Chan- 
cellor Livingston. Jefferson and Adams were, by 
their brethren on the committee, deputed to draw 
the Declaration, and the immortal work was per- 
formed by Jefferson. Meantime the Resolution had 
not yet been voted in Congress. The first day of 
July came, and at the request of a colony, the decis- 
ion was postponed till the following day. On that 
day, July the second, it passed. The discussion of 
the declaration continued for that and the following 
day. On the third of July, John Adams wrote to 
his wife, in the following memorable strain ; " Yes- 
terday the greatest question was decided, which was 
ever debated in America; and greater perhaps never 
was or will be decided among men. A resolution 
was passed, without one dissenting colony, — That 
these United States are and of right ought to be, 
free and independent States. In another letter the 
same day, he wrote, " The day is passed : the second 
of July, 1776, will be a memorable epoch in the 
history of America. I am apt to believe it will be 
celebrated by succeeding generations, as the great 
anniversary festival. It ought to be commemorated 
as the Day of Deliverance, by solemn acts of devo- 
2 



10 

tion to Almighty God. It ought to be solemnized 
with pomp, shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bon- 
fires, and illuminations from one end of the continent 
to the other, from this time forward forever. You 
will think me transported with enthusiasm; but I 
am not. I am well aware of the toil, blood and 
treasure, that it will cost to maintain this declara- 
tion, and support and defend these States ; yet 
through all the gloom I can see rays of light and 
glory ; I can see that the end is worth more than all 
the means; that posterity will triumph, although 
you and I may rue, which I hope we shall not." 

On the following day, the fourth, the Declaration 
was formally adopted by Congress, and proclaimed 
to the world ; — the most important document in the 
political history of nations. As the day on which 
this solemn manifesto was made public, rather than 
that on which the resolution was adopted in private, 
was deemed the proper date of the country's inde- 
pendence, the Fourth of July has been consecrated 
as the National Anniversary ; and will thus be cele- 
brated, with patriotic zeal and pious gratitude, by 
the citizens of America, to the end of time. 

Such it was ever regarded, — as such, for half a 
century, it had been hailed throughout the Union, 
in conformity with the prediction of the illustrious 
Adams. But what new sanctity did it not acquire, 
when nine years ago, and on the fiftieth return of 
the auspicious anniversary, it pleased Heaven to sig- 
nalize it, by the most remarkable and touching Pro- 
vidence, which merely human history records ! 



11 

Who among us, Fellow Citizens, of years to com- 
prehend the event, but felt an awe-struck sense of 
direct interposition, Swhen told that Jefferson and 
Adams, — one the author of the immortal Declara- 
tion, — the other his immediate associate in preparing 
it, — "the Colossus who sustained it in debate," 
had departed this life together on the day, which 
their united act had raised into an era in the history 
of the world ! Whose heart was not touched at be- 
holding these patriarchs, — after all their joint labors, 
— their lofty rivalry, — their passing collisions, — their 
returning affections, — their long enjoyment of the 
blessings they had done so much to procure for their 
country, — closing their eventful career, on that day, 
which they would themselves have chosen as their 
last, — that day which the kindest friend could not 
have wished them to survive ! 

This is the day. Fellow Citizens of Beverly, 
which we have met to commemorate ; — which you 
have done me the honor, — an humble stranger, 
known but to a very few of you, — to invite me to 
join you in celebrating. Had I looked only to my 
personal convenience, I could have found a justifica- 
tion for excusing myself from the performance of 
the duty you have assigned me. Had I followed 
my strong inclination, I should have been a listener 
to-day. A single consideration has induced me to 
obey your call; and that is, that it proceeds from my 
fellow citizens, without distinction of party. I have 
ever been of opinion, that the anniversary of our 
National Independence is never so properly celebra- 



12 

ted, as when it brings us all together, as members 
of one great family. Our beloved and venerated 
Washington, in his farewell address, has declared 
party spirit to be " the worst enemy " of a popular 
government, and that " the effort ought to be, by 
the force of public opinion, to mitigate and assuage 
it." 

It is of little avail to agitate the question, whether 
the existence of parties, in a free state, is an un- 
mingled evil, or an evil in some measure compensa- 
ted by a mixture of good. It is unavailing, because 
it may be taken for granted, that, in all free states, 
— in all countries in which representative govern- 
ments exist, and places of honor, trust, and emolu- 
ment are elective, where the press is free, and 
thought is free, and speech is free, — there parties 
must and will arise, by the very necessity of our na- 
ture. They cannot be avoided, while the state re- 
mains a free one ; — and no force or influence could 
be applied to control them, that would not be, at the 
same time, destructive of liberty. There are no 
parties in Turkey and none in China, though there 
are frequent rebellions in both. There were no 
parties in France under Louis XIV. But wherever 
the constitution gives to the people a share in the 
government, — there parties spring up, under the in- 
fluence of the different interests, opinions, and pas- 
sions of men. The zeal and violence, with which 
the party controversies are waged, will depend on 
the habits and temper of the people ; the nature of 
the questions at stake ; — the mode in which they are 



13 

decided ; — the facility, with which the will of the 
majority takes effect. In some countries, the dis- 
sensions of party have been kept almost always 
within comparatively reasonable limits ; and have 
never or rarely proceeded so far, as to endanger the 
peace of society ; shake the security of property ; — 
or bring over the community the terrors of blood- 
shed and civil war. In other countries, the opera- 
tion of causes too numerous to be detailed has made 
the pages of their domestic annals a bloody record 
of violence and crime, of remorseless and madden- 
ing convulsions, in which peace, property, and life 
have made common shipwreck. 

In our own country, and in that from which, for 
the most part, we are descended, — but especially in 
our own country, — party dissensions have probably 
been attended with as little evil, as is compatible 
with the frailty of our natures. It is generally ad- 
mitted, that the opposite parties have acted as 
watchful sentinels of each other. It would not be 
easy to point out any free country in history, where 
so few of those deplorable acts of violence, which 
go to the destruction of peace and life, — which con- 
stitute that most frightful of all despotisms, — a reign 
of terror, — are set down to the reproach of a people. 
It has never happened in New England, — and God 
grant it never may happen, — that lawless assem- 
blages, — inflamed by party rage, — have encountered 
each other with murderous weapons in the streets ; 
and never, that a triumphant faction, feeling pow- 
er and forgetting right, has made the sword of 



14 

public justice to wreak the vengeance of party feel- 
ing. 

Many causes might be assigned for an effect, 
which is so honorable to the character of the people, 
and which has contributed so much to the prosperity 
of the country. I take it a main cause has been the 
thoroughly popular organization of the government 
and the frequent recurrence of the elections. When 
the majority of the people, at regularly returning 
periods of one, two, four or six years have it in their 
power to bestow, wherever they please, all th6 
places of trust and power, there is little temptation 
to proceed by violence, against the opposite party. 
There is no need of resorting to banishment or the 
scaffold, to displace an obnoxious ruler or an odious 
opponent, when a single twelvemonth will reduce 
him to the level of the rest of the community. It 
is true the community is kept agitated and excited ; 
but it is not kept armed. Electioneering takes the 
place of all the other forms and manifestations of 
party spirit ; — and though the paroxysm of a contest- 
ed election is not in itself a condition of society fa- 
vorable to its peace or prosperity ; it is far better 
than cruel hereditary feuds and bloody contests of 
rival states, like those which stain the annals of an- 
cient Greece, and of the Italian Republics. 

Other causes that assuage the violence of party, 
are the general diffusion of knowledge and the mul- 
tiplication of liberal pursuits. — Ignorance is the hot- 
bed of party prejudice, and party detraction. A 
people who read little, and that little exclusively; the 



15 

production of the partizan press, may be grossly 
duped as to the condition and interests of the coun- 
try, — the designs and actions of parties, — and the 
characters of men. But an enlightened people, 
whose minds are stored with knowledge, — who read, 
observe, and reflect ; — who know the history of the 
country, and as a portion of it the history of parties, 
instead of being a prey to the exaggerated state- 
ments of the political press, form an independent 
opinion of men and things, and are able to correct 
mistatements and rejudge prejudices. The well-in- 
formed mind has other objects of interest and pur- 
suit. In proportion to the intelligence of a commu- 
nity, will be the diversity of its occupations and the 
variety of the objects, which invite and receive the 
attention of active minds. Political interests are 
less keenly pursued in such a community, than where 
they form the almost exclusive object of attention. 
Other great questions connected with religious and 
moral improvement, social progress, the cause of 
education, and the advancement of the elegant and 
useful arts engage the thoughts of the active and the 
inquisitive. These liberal pursuits bring those to- 
gether, whom politics separate ; and shew men 
that their opponents are neither the knaves nor the 
fools, they might otherwise have thought them. 

But especially the spirit of patriotism may be 
looked to, as the great corrective of party spirit. 
Whatsoever revives the recollections of exploits 
and sacrifices, of which all share the pride as all par- 
take the benefits, — the memory of the pilgrim fath- 



16 

ers and revolutionary patriots, — the common glories 
of the American name, — serves to moderate the grow- 
ing bitterness of party animosity. The unkind feel- 
ings kindled by present struggles are subdued, by 
the generous emotions with which we contemplate 
the glorious events of our history and the illustri- 
ous characters, with which it is adorned. — It is 
scarcely possible for men, who have just united in an 
act of patriotic commemoration ; — who have re- 
peated to each other with mutual pride, the names 
of a common ancestry ; — who have trod together the 
field of some great and decisive struggle, — who 
have assembled to join in recalling the merits of 
some friend and ornament of his country, — to go 
away and engage with unmitigated rancor, in the 
work of party defamation. The spirit of party 
which yields nothing to these humanizing influences 
is not the laudable spirit of political independence, 
but malignant and selfish passion ; — and that patriot- 
ism, which expires in wordy commendation of the 
acts or principles of our forefathers, without soften- 
ing the asperities, which exist between their chil- 
dren at the present day, is hollow-hearted pretence. 
Of all the occasions rightfully redeemed from the 
contamination of party feeling and consecrated to 
union, harmony, and patriotic affection the day we 
celebrate stands first, — for on what day can we meet 
as brothers, if the fourth of July sunders us as par- 
tizans ? It is an occasion, toward which no man 
and no party can feel indifferent ; — in which no man 
and no party can arrogate an exclusive interest ; 



17 

for which every American citizen, in proportion as 
he has sense to perceive the blessings which have 
fallen to his lot, and sagacity to mark the connec- 
tion of the Independence of America with the pro- 
gress of liberty throughout the world, must feel the 
same profound reverence. It is for this reason, that 
I ever rejoice when it is proposed to celebrate the 
Fourth of July, without distinction of party ; for 
this reason, that on this day, — and I hope not on 
this day alone, — I have a hand of fellowship and a 
heart warm with kind feeling, for every patriotic 
brother of the great American family. I would 
devote this day not to the discussion of topics, 
which divide the people, but to the memory of 
the events and of the men, which unite their 
affections. I would call up, in the most imposing 
recollection, the venerated images of our patriot- 
ic ancestors. I would strive to place myself in 
the actual presence of that circle of sages, whose 
act has immortalized the day. — As they rise one 
by one to the eye of a grateful imagination, my 
heart bows down at the sight of their venerable fea- 
tures, their grey hairs, and their honorable scars : and 
every angry feeling settles into reverence and love. 

It has seemed to me, fellow citizens, that I could 
select no topic more appropriate to the occasion, — 
none more in harmony with the spirit of the day 
and the feelings, which have led you to unite in 
celebrating it, — than the character of Washington. 
Considered as the great military leader of the Revo- 
lution, it is admitted, on every side, that his agency 
3 



18 

in establishing the Independence of the Country, 
was more important than that of any other individu- 
al. — It is not less certain, that, but for the co-opera- 
tion of Washington in the federal convention, and 
the universal understanding that he was to fill the 
Chief Magistracy, under the new government, the 
Constitution of these United States would not have 
been adopted. — Let me not seem unjust to others. 
The perils and trials of the times, — the voice of a 
bleeding country, — the high tone of public feeling, 
— the sympathy of an astonished and delighted age, 
— the manifest indications of a providential purpose 
to raise up a new state in the family of nations, 
called into action a rare assemblage of wise, cour- 
ageous, and patriotic men. — To numbers of them 
the meed of well deserved applause, has been, and 
in all time will be, gratefully accorded. — My own 
poor voice has never been silent in their praise, and 
when hushed on that theme, may it never be listen- 
ed to, on any other. But of Washington alone it has 
been said, with an aptitude, which all feel, and an 
emphasis, which goes to the heart, that he was 
" First in War, First in Peace, and First in the Hearts 
of his Countrymen." 

Nor let it be thought, Fellow-citizens, that this is 
an exhausted subject. It can never be exhausted, 
while the work of his hands, — the monuments of 
his achievements, — and the fruits of his counsels re- 
main. On the contrary, it is a subject, which every 
age will study under new lights ; which has endur- 
ing relations not only with the fortunes of America, 



19 

but the general cause of libertjp I have, within a few 
weeks, seen an official declarajtion of General Santan- 
der, the enlightened chief magistrate of the Republic 
of New Grenada, in which he avows his intention to 
decline a re-election, and assigns the example of 
Washington as the cause. — I do not believe it with- 
in the compass of the most active imagination, to do 
full justice to the effect on mankind of having em- 
bodied, in the conspicuous living illustration of the 
character of Washington, the great principles, which 
should govern the conduct of a patriotic chief mag- 
istrate, in a representative government. For my- 
self, I am well persuaded, that the present genera- 
tion is better able to do justice to this character, 
than that in which he lived. — We behold it more 
nearly than our predecessors, entire, in all its parts. 
We approach it, free from the prejudices, of which, 
under the influence of the passions of the day, 
even the purest and most illustrious men are the sub- 
jects while they live. Every day furnishes new 
proofs of the importance of his services, in their 
connection with American Liberty ; — and I am sure, 
that instead of sinking into comparative obscurity, 
with the lapse of time, the character of Washing- 
ton, a century hence, will be the subject of a warm- 
er and a more general enthusiasm, on the part of the 
friends of liberty, than at the present day. The 
great points in his character are living centres of a 
self-diffusive moral influence, which is daily taking 
effect, and which is destined still more widely to 



20 

control the minds and excite the imaginations of 
men. 

It is, in all cases, difficult for contemporaries, or 
the next generation, to do full justice to the riches 
of a character, destined to command the respect of 
all time. It is a part of the character, that it con- 
tained within it qualities so true, that, while they 
conflict perhaps with the interests, passions, and 
prejudices of the day, they justify themselves in the 
great experience of ages. The planets, as we be- 
hold them, are sometimes stationary, and sometimes 
seem to retrograde. But it is only to the imperfect 
sense of man, that they stand still and move back- 
ward ; while in reality they are ever rolling in ma- 
jesty along their orbits, and will be found, at the 
appointed season, to have compassed the heavens. 
Instead of expecting at once to sound the depths of a 
character like Washington's, it requires all our study 
and all our vigilance, not to measure such a charac- 
ter, on the scale of our own littleness ; not to esti- 
mate it from a partial developement of its influence. 
A great character, founded on the living rock of 
principle, is in fact not a solitary phenomenon to be 
at once perceived, limited, and described. It is a 
dispensation of providence, designed to have not 
merely an immediate, but a continuous, progressive, 
and never-endmg agency. It survives the man who 
possessed it ; survives his age, — perhaps his country, 
— his language. These, in the lapse of time, may 
disappear and be forgotten. Governments, tribes of 
men, chase each other, like the shadows of summer 



21 

clouds, on a plain. But an earthly immortality be- 
longs to a great and good character. History embalms 
it ; it lives in its moral influence ; in its authority ; 
in its example ; in the memory of the words and 
deeds, in which it was manifested; and as /every 
age adds to the illustrations of its efficacy, it may 
chance to be the best understood, by a remote pos- 
terity. 

There is, however, but a single point of view, in 
which the limits of the occasion will allow me to 
dwell on this great theme, more suitable for a volume 
than the address of an hour ; — and that is, the early 
formation of the character of Washington. It must 
have occurred to you all, in reading the history of 
the Revolution, that from the period, at which 
Washington assumed the chief command, he was 
not merely the head of the army, but to all practical 
purposes, the chief magistrate of the country. Con- 
gress in fact conferred on him, by one of their reso- 
lutions, powers, that may without exaggeration be 
called dictatorial. The point then, on which I 
would dwell, is this, that it was absolutely necessary 
for the prosperous issue of the Revolution, — not^ 
that a character like Washington's, perfectly qualifi- 
ed for the duties of the camp and the council, should 
have gradually formed itself; this would not have 
sufficed for the salvation of the country, in the criti- 
cal, embarrassed, — often disastrous state of affairs. 
It was necessary, not^ that, after having for some 
years languished or struggled on, beneath incompe- 
tent, unsuccessful, unpopular, and perhaps faithless 



chieftains, the country should at last have found her 
Washington, when her spirit was broken, — her re- 
sources exhausted, — her character discredited, — her 
allies disgusted, — in short, when Washington himself 
could not have saved her. No, it strikes the reflect- 
ing mind to have been necessary, absolutely neces- 
sary, at the very outset of the contest, to have a 
leader possessed of all the qualities, which were ac- 
tually found in him. He cannot be waited for, even 
if by being waited for, he was sure to be found. 
The organization of the army may be a work of dif- 
ficulty and time, — the plan of confederation may 
drag tardily along, — the finances may plunge from 
one desperate expedient to another, — expedition af- 
ter expedition may fail ; but it is manifestly indis- 
pensable that, from the first, there should be one safe 
governing mind, one clear unclouded intellect, one 
resolute will, one pure and patriotic heart, — placed 
at the head of affairs, by common consent. One 
such character there must be, for the very reason 
that all other resources are wanting ; — and with one 
such character, all else in time will be supplied. 
The storm sails may fly in ribbons to the wind ; 
mast and top-mast may come down, — and every 
billow of the ocean boil through the gaping seams ; 
— and the brave ship, by the blessing of heaven, may 
yet ride out the tempest. But if, when the winds, 
in all their fury, are beating upon her, and the black 
and horrid rocks of a lee shore are already hanging 
over the deck, and all other hope and dependence 
fail, if then the chain-cable gives way, she must, 



23 

with all on board, be dashed to pieces. I own I re- 
gard it, though but a single view of the character of 
Washington, as one of transcendent importance, that 
the commencement of the Revolution found him al- 
ready prepared and mature for the work ; and that 
on the day, on which his commission was signed by 
John Hancock, — the immortal seventeenth of June, 
1775, — a day on which Providence kept an even 
balance with the cause, and while it took from us a 
Warren gave / us a Washington, — he was just as 
consummate i leader for peace or for war, as when, 
eight years after, he resigned that commission at 
Annapolis. 

His father, a Virginia gentleman in moderate cir- 
cumstances of fortune, died when George Washing- 
ton was but ten years old. His surviving parent, — 
a woman fit to be the mother of Washington, — be- 
stowed the tenderest care upon the education of her 
oldest and darling son ; and instilled into his mind 
those moral and religious principles, that love of 
order, and what is better, that love of justice, and 
devout reliance on Providence, which formed the ba- 
sis of his character. His elder brother Lawrence, 
the child of a former marriage, was a captain in the 
British army. He was ordered with his company 
to Jamaica in 1741, and was present at the capture 
of Porto Bello and at the disastrous attack on Car- 
thagena, to which the poet Thompson so pathetical- 
ly alludes in the Seasons. In honor of Admiral Ver- 
non; who commanded those expeditions, Captain Law- 
rence Washington gave the name of Mount Vernon 



24 

to the beautiful estate, which he purchased on the 
banks of the Potomac, and which at his death he 
bequeathed to his brother George. Influenced no 
doubt by the example of his brother, but led by his 
advice to engage in the other branch of the service, 
George Washington, at the age of fourteen years, 
sought and obtained a midshipman's warrant in the 
British navy. Shall he engage in this branch of the 
military service, on which his heart is bent ? Shall 
his feet quit the firm soil of his country ? Shall he 
enter a line of duty and promotion, in which, if he 
escape the hazards and gain the prizes of his career, 
he can scarce fail to be carried to distant scenes, — 
to bestow his energies on foreign expeditions, in re- 
mote seas, perhaps in another hemisphere ; in which 
he will certainly fail of the opportunity of preparing 
himself in the camp and field of the approaching 
war, to command the armies of the Revolution ; and 
not improbably sink under the pestilential climate of 
the West Indies and the Spanish Main ? Such in- 
deed seems almost inevitably his career. He desires 
it; his brother, standing in the place of a parent, 
approves it ; the warrant is obtained. But nothing 
could overcome the invincible repugnance of his 
widowed mother. She saw only the dangers, which 
awaited the health, the morals, and the life of her 
favorite child, — and her influence prevailed. Thus 
the voice of his high destiny first spoke to the affec- 
tions of the youthful hero, through the fond yearn- 
ings of a mother's heart. He abandoned his com- 
mission, remained beneath the paternal roof, and 
was saved to the country. 



25 

The early education of Washington was confined 
to those branches of useful knowledge commonly 
taught in English Grammar schools. But he soon 
entered upon a course of practical education ; singu- 
larly adapted to form him for his future career. He 
is to lead an active and a laborious life, and he must 
carry to it a healthy frame. Destined for the com- 
mand of armies, to direct the movement and the 
supply of troops, — to select the routes of march and 
the points of attack and defence, — 'to wrestle with 
privation, hunger, and the elements ; — raised up, 
above all, to perform theYpart of a great and patriotic 
chieftain, in the revolutionary councils of a new 
country, where the primeval forest had just begun to 
yield to the settler's axe, and most of the institutions 
of society, and the thoughts and prejudices of a good 
part of the population are those of an early stage of 
improvement and, so to express it, to some extent, of 
frontier life ; — with this destiny, how shall he be ed- 
ucated ? A great extent and variety of literary accom- 
plishments are evidently not the things most required. 

It is impossible to read the account of his early 
years, without feeling that he was thrown upon 
an occupation, which, without carrying on its out- 
side any thing particularly attractive to a young 
man, able to indulge his taste in the choice of a 
pursuit, was unquestionably of all pursuits, the 
best adapted to form the youthful Washington. At 
the period when he came forward into life, the at- 
tention of men of adventure in Virginia, had begun 
to turn toward the occupation of the regions west of 

the blue ridge and Alleghany mountains ; — a region 
4 



26 

now filled with a dense population, with all the 
works of human labor, and all the bounties of a pro- 
ductive soil ; then shaded with the native forest, — 
infested with its savage inhabitants, and claimed as 
the domain of France. The enterprize of the Eng- 
lish colonists of the Atlantic coast, was beginning to 
move boldly forward into the interior. The destiny 
of the Anglo-Saxon race, transplanted to this conti- 
nent, had too long awaited its fulfilment. The char- 
ter of Virginia, as well as of several other of the 
colonies, extended from sea to sea; — but of the broad 
region, which lay to the south and east of the Ohio, 
a country as highly favored of nature, as any on 
which heaven sends rain and sunshine, the compara- 
tive narrow belt to the east of the blue ridge was all, 
that was yet occupied by compact settlements. But 
the bold huntsman had followed the deer to the up- 
per waters of the Potomac ; and trapped the beaver 
in his still, hereditary pool, among the western slopes 
of the Alleghany. The intrepid woodsman, in a few 
instances, had fixed his log-cabin on the fertile mea- 
dows which are watered by the tributaries of the 
Ohio. Their reports of the riches of the unoccupied 
region excited the curiosity of their countrymen, and 
just as Washington was passing from boyhood to 
youth, the enterprize and capital of Virginia were 
seeking a new field for exercise and investment, in 
the unoccupied public domain beyond the mountains. 
The business of a surveyor immediately became one 
of great importance and trust, for no surveys were 
executed by the government. To this occupation, 
the youthful Washington, not yet sixteen years of 



27 

age, and well furnished with the requisite mathema- 
tical knowledge, zealously devoted himself. Some 
of his family connections possessed titles to large 
portions of public land, which he was employed with 
them in surveying. Thus, at a period of life, when, 
in a more quiet and advanced stage of society, the 
intelligent youth is occupied in the elementary stud- 
ies of the schools and colleges, Washington was run- 
ning the surveyor's chain, through the fertile vallies 
of the blue ridge and the Alleghany mountains; 
passing days and weeks in the wilderness, beneath 
the shadow of eternal forests ; — listening to the voice 
of the waterfalls, which man's art had not yet set to 
the healthful music of the saw-mill or the trip-ham- 
mer; — reposing from the labors of the day on a bear- 
skin, with his feet to the blazing logs of a camp-fire ; 
and sometimes startled from the deep slumbers of 
careless hard-working youth, by the alarm of the In- 
dian war whoop. This was the gymnastic school, 
in which Washington was brought up ; in which his 
quick glance was formed, destined to range here- 
after across the battle-field, through clouds of smoke 
and bristling rows of bayonets ; — the school in which 
his senses, weaned from the taste for those detesta- 
Jple indulgencies miscalled pleasures, in which the 
flower of adolescence so often languishes and pines 
away, were early braced up to that sinewy man- 
hood, which becomes the 

Lord of the Lion heart and Eagle eye. 
There is preserved, among the papers of Wash- 
ington, a letter written to a friend, while he was 
engaged on his first surveying tour, and when he 



28 

was consequently but sixteen years of age. I quote 
a sentence from it, in spite of the homeliness of the 
details, for which I like it the better, and because I 
wish to set before you, not an ideal hero wrapped in 
cloudy generalities and a mist of vague panegyric, 
but the real, identical man, with all the peculiarities 
of his life and occupation. " Your letter," says he 
" gave me the more pleasure, as I received it among 
barbarians and an uncouth set of people. Since you 
received my letter of October last, I have not slept 
above three or four nights in a bed ; but after walk- 
ing a good deal all the day, I have lain down before 
the fire, upon a little hay, straw, fodder, or a bear- 
skin, whichever was to be had, — with man, wife, 
and children, like dogs and cats ; and happy is he 
who gets the berth nearest the fire. Nothing would 
make it pass off tolerably, but a good reward. A 
doubloon is my constant gain every day, that the 
weather will permit my going out, and sometimes 
six pistoles. The coldness of the weather will not 
allow of my making a long stay, as the lodging is 
rather too cold for the time of year. I have never 
had my clothes off, but have lain and slept in them, 
except the few nights I have been in Fredericks- 
burg." If there is an individual in the morning of 
life, in this assembly, who has not yet made his 
choice, between the flowery path of indulgence and 
the rough ascent of honest industry, — if there is 
one, who is ashamed to get his living by any branch 
of honest labor, — let him reflect, that the youth, 
who was carrying the theodolite and surveyor's 
chain, through the mountain passes of the Allegha- 



29 

nies, in the month of March, — sleeping on a bundle 
of hay, before the fire, in a settler's log-cabin, and 
not ashamed to boast that he did it, for his doubloon 
a day, is George Washington ; — that the life he 
led trained him up to command the armies of United 
America ; — that the money he earned was the basis 
of that fortune, which enabled him afterwards to be- 
stow his services, without reward, on a bleeding and 
imj^overished country ! 

^or three years was the young Washington em- 
ployed, the greater part of the time, and whenever 
the season would permit, in this laborious and health- 
ful occupation ; — and I know not if it would be 
deemed unbecoming, were a thoughtful student of 
our history to say, that he could almost hear the 
voice of Providence, in the language of Milton, an- 
nounce its high purpose : — 

To exercise him in the wilderness ; — 
There he shall first lay down the rudiments 
Of his great warfare, ere I send him forth 
To conquer ! 

At this period, the military service, in all coun- 
tries, was sorely infested by a loathsome disease, 
not known to the ancients, — supposed to have been 
generated in some pestilential region of the East ; — 
and brought back to Europe by the Crusaders, an 
ample revenge for the desolation of Asia. — Long 
since robbed of its terrors, by the sublime discovery 
of Jenner, it is now hardly known, except by the 
memory of its ravages. — But before the middle of 
the last century, it rarely happened that a large body 



of troops was brought together, without the appear- 
ance among them of this terrific malady, whose ap- 
proach was more dreaded, often more destructive, 
than that of the foe. Shortly before the career 
of Washington commenced, this formidable disease 
had been brought within the control of human art, 
by the practice of inoculation, which was introduced 
into England from Turkey, by the wife of the British 
Ambassador, and into this neighborhood, by Dr. Zab- 
diel Boylston, in the first quarter of the eighteenth 
century. — An unfortunate prejudice, however, arose 
in many minds against the practice of inoculation. 
It was believed to be an unwarrantable tempting of 
Providence, voluntarily to take into the frame so 
dangerous a disease. — In many places, its introduc- 
tion was resisted by all the force of popular preju- 
dice and sometimes of popular violence, and in the 
colony of Virginia, it was prohibited by law. At 
the age of nineteen, George Washington accompan- 
ied his elder brother already mentioned, and whose 
health was now infirm, to the island of Barbadoes. 
Here he was attacked by this terrific malady, in the 
natural way ; but skilful medical attendance was at 
hand, the climate mild, the season favorable, and on 
the twenty-fifth day, from the commencement of the 
disease, he had passed through it in safety. He 
was thus, before his military career commenced, 
placed beyond the reach of danger from this cause. — 
In the very first campaign of the Revolutionary 
War, the small pox was one of the most dangerous 
enemies, with which the troops under Washington 
were obliged to contend. It broke out in the British 



31 

army in Boston, and was believed by General Wash- 
ington, to have been propagated in the American 
camp, by persons pmposely inoculated and sent into 
the American lines. However this might be, it was 
necessary to subject the American army to the pro- 
cess of inoculation, at a period when, destitute as 
they were of powder, an attack was daily expected 
from the royal army. But the beloved commander 
was safe. 
y/The time had now arrived, when the military ed- 
ucation of Washington, properly so called, was to 
commence. And in the circumstances of this por- 
tion of his life, if I am not greatly deceived, will be 
found a connection of the character and conduct of 
this illustrious man, with the fortunes and prospects 
of his country, which cannot be too much admired, 
nor too gratefully acknowledged. The struggle 
between the governments of France and England, 
for the exclusive possession of the American con- 
tinent, was a principal source of the European wars 
of the last century. The successes of each contest 
furnished new subjects of jealously, and peace was 
but a cessation of arms, preparatory to another strug- 
gle. The English colonies, favored by the mari- 
time superiority of the mother country, had possess- 
ed themselves of the Atlantic shore. The French 
adventurers, who excelled in the art of gaining the 
affection of the aborigines, having entrenched them- 
selves at the mouth of the St. Lawrence and the 
Mississippi, aimed by a chain of posts through the 
whole interior, at all events to prevent the progress 
of the English westward, and as circumstances 



32 

should favor the design, to confine them within con- 
stantly reduced limits ; — ultimately, if possible, to 
bring the whole coast into subjection to France. 
This struggle retarded for a century the progress of 
civilization on this continent. During that period, 
it subjected the whole line of the frontier to all the 
horrors of a remorseless border and savage war. — 
It resulted at last in the entire expulsion of the 
French from the continent ; in the reduction of the 
British dominion to a portion of that territory, which 
had been wrested from the French ; and in the es- 
tablishment of the Independence of the United 
States of America. Every thing preceding the 
year 1748, when the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle was 
concluded, may be considered as preliminary to that 
grand series of events, which makes the day we cele- 
brate an era in the history of the world, and in which 
the first part was performed by Washington. 

Previous to this period, the fertile region west of 
the Alleghany mountains, and now containing near 
a third part of the population of the United States, 
was unoccupied by civilized man. In the western 
part of Pennsylvania and Virginia, in Kentucky and 
all the States directly south of it, in the entire re- 
gion north west of the Ohio and west of the Mis- 
sissippi, there did not, less than ninety years ago, 
arise the smoke of a single hamlet, in which the 
white man dwelt. On the return of peace be- 
tween France and England, in the year 1748, 
— the Ohio company was formed. Its object was 
the occupation and settlement of the fertile district 
south east of the Ohio and west of the Alleghany 



33 

mountain. It consisted of a small number of gen- 
tlemen in Virginia and Maryland, with one associate 
in London, Mr. Thomas Hanburj, a distinguished 
merchant of that city. The elder brothers of 
George Washington were actively engaged in the 
enterprize. A grant of five hundred acres of land 
was obtained from the crown, and the company were 
obliged by the terms of the grant, to introduce a 
hundred families into the settlement within seven 
years, to build a fort, and provide a garrison ade- 
quate to its defence. Out of this small germ of 
private enterprize, sprung the old French war, and 
by no doubtful chain of cause and effect, the war of 
American Independence. 

} The Ohio Company proceeded to execute the 
conditions of the grant. Preparations for opening a 
trade with the Indians were commenced, — a road 
across the mountains was laid out, substantially on 
the line of the present national road, and an agent 
was sent to conciliate the Indian tribes, on the sub- 
ject of the new settlement. In 1752, the tribes en- 
tered into a treaty with the Virginia commissioners, 
in which they agreed not to molest any settlements, 
which might be formed by the company on the 
south eastern side of the Ohio. On the faith of this 
compact, twelve families of adventurers from Vir- 
ginia headed by Captain Gist, immediately estab- 
lished themselves, on the banks of the Mononga- 
hela. 

The French colonial authorities in Canada viewed 
these movements with jealousy. Although great 
Britain and France had lately concluded a treaty of 
5 



34 

peace, emissaries were sent from Canada to the In- 
dians on the Ohio, to break up the friendly relations 
just established with Virginia. Some of the traders 
were seized and sent to France ; and by order of 
the French ministry, a fort was immediately com- 
menced on Buffalo River, as a position, from which 
the Indians could be controlled and the Virginians 
held in check. These proceedings were promptly 
reported to Gov. Dinwiddie, by the agents of the 
Ohio company ; and the Governor immediately de- 
termined to make them the subject of remonstrance 
to the commandant of the French fort. 

To transmit such a remonstrance from Williams- 
burg in Virginia to the shores of lake Erie, was, in 
the state of the country at that time, no easy mat- 
ter. A distance of three or four hundred miles was 
to be travelled, the greater part of the way through 
a wilderness. Mountains were to be climbed and 
rivers crossed. Tribes of savages were to be passed, 
by the way ; and all the hazards of an unfriendly 
Indian frontier, in a state of daily increasing irrita- 
tion, were to be encountered. — To all these difficul- 
ties the season of the year, (it was now the month 
of November,) added obstacles all but insuperable. — 
It is scarcely matter of reproach therefore, that the 
mission was declined, by those, to whom Governor 
Dinwiddie at first tendered it. 

But there was one at hand, by whom no under- 
taking was ever declined, however severe or peri- 
lous, which was enjoined by duty, or which prom- 
ised benefit to the country. On his return from 
Barbadoes in 1752, George Washington then in the 



35 

twentieth year of his age, received his commission as 
adjutant of militia in the northern neck of Virginia. 
The colony was divided into four military districts, 
the following year, and Washington received the 
same appointment in one of them. An expectation 
of approaching hostilities prevailed, and the mililia 
were every where drilled, as in preparation for ac- 
tual service. — In this state of things, Governor Din- 
widdle proposed to Major Washington, to undertake 
the mission to the French commandant. — Washing- 
ton had just received by bequest the fine estate of 
Mount Vernon ; but he accepted the tendered ap- 
pointment with alacrity, and started on his journey 
the following day. 

/At the frontier settlements on the Monongahela 
above alluded to, he was joined by Captain Gist, an 
intelligent and brave pioneer of civilization, and by 
some Indians of rank in their tribe, who were to add 
their remonstrances to those of the Governor of 
Virginia. After encountering all the hardships of 
the season and the wilderness, and various embar- 
rassments arising from the policy of the French, 
Washington penetrated to their post and performed 
his errand. On the return of the party, their horses 
failed, from the inclemency of the weather and the 
severity of the march; and Washington and his com- 
panion Gist, (left by their friendly Indians), with 
their packs on their shoulders and guns in their 
hands, were compelled to make the dreary journey 
on foot. They were soon joined by Indians in the 
French interest, who had dogged them, ever since 
they left the French fort. One of them exerted all 



3Q 

the arts of savage cunning, to get possession of the 
arms of Washington, and lead him and his compan- 
ion astray in the forest. Baffled by their wariness 
and self-possession, and when he perceived them, at 
night-fall, worn down, by the fatigue of the march, 
the savage turned deliberately, and at a distance of 
fifteen steps, fired at Washington and his companion. 
The Indian's rifle mised its aim. Washington and 
Gist immediately sprang upon and seized him. Gist 
was desirous of putting him to death, but Washington 
would not permit his life to be taken, justly forfeited 
as it was. After detaining him to a late hour, they 
allowed him to escape ; and pursued their own jour- 
ney, worn and weary as they were, through the live- 
long watches of a December night. 

Well knowing that the savages were on their trail, 
they dared not stop, till they reached the Alleghany, 
a clear and rapid stream, which they hoped to be 
able to cross on the ice ; — the only poor consolation 
which they promised themselves from the stinging 
severity of the weather. The river unfortunately 
was neither frozen across nor open ; — but fringed 
with broken ice for fifty yards on each shore, and 
the middle stream filled with cakes of ice, furiously 
drifting down the current. With one poor hatchet, 
to use Washington's own expression, they commenc- 
ed the construction of a raft. It was a weary day's 
work, and not completed till sunset. They launch- 
ed it upon the stream, but were soon so surrounded 
and crushed, by drifting masses of ice, that they ex- 
pected every moment, that their raft would go to 
pieces, and they themselves perish. Washington 



37 

put out his pole to stop the raft, till the fields of ice 
should float by ; but the raft was driven forward so 
furiously upon his pole, that he himself holding to 
the pole, was violently thrown into the river, where 
it was ten feet deep. He saved his life by clinging 
to a log, but unable to force the raft to either shore, 
Washington and his companion left it, and passed 
the night, on an island in the middle of the river. 
So intense was the cold, that the hands and feet 
of Captain Gist, hardy and experienced woodsman 
as he was, were frozen. Happily, however, they 
were enabled, on the following morning, to cross to 
the opposite bank of the river, on the ice, — a circum- 
stance which no doubt saved them from the toma- 
hawk of the unfriendly Indians. 

Such was the commencement of the public ser- 
vices of the youthful hero, as related with admirable 
simplicity by himself, in his journal /of the expedi- 
tion. That of his companion Gist, though never 
yet printed, is still preserved ;* and states, much 
more particularly than it is done by Washington, the 
murderous attempt of the Indian. Such was the 
journey undertaken by Washington at a season of 
the year, when the soldier goes into quarters, — in a 
state of weather, when the huntsman shrinks from 
the inclemency of the skies ; amidst perils, from 
which his escape was all but miraculous : and this 
too not by a pennyless adventurer, fighting his way, 
through desperate risks, to promotion and bread ; 
but by a young man, already known most advanta- 

* It will appear in the next volume of the Collections of the Massachusetts His- 
torical Society. 



38 

geously in the community, and who, by his own 
honorable industry and the bequest of a . deceased 
brother, was already in possession of a fortune. In 
this his first official step, taken at the age of twenty- 
one, Washington displayed a courage, resolution, 
prudence, disinterestedness, and fortitude, on a small 
scale, though at the risk of his life, which never af- 
terwards failed to mark his conduct. He seemed to 
spring at once into public life, considerate, wary, and 
fearless; and that Providence, which destined him for 
other and higher duties, manifestly extended a pro- 
tecting shield over his beloved head. 

The answer of the French commandant to the re- 
monstrance of the Governor of Virginia was evasive 
and unsatisfactory. A regiment was immediately 
enlisted; Major Washington, on the ground of youth 
and inexperience, declined being a candidate for the 
place of colonel, but solicited and accepted the sec- 
ond command. He hasten with two companies to 
the scene of action, beyond the Alleghanies ; and 
by the death of Col. Fry, was soon left in full com- 
mand of the regiment. He had never served a cam- 
paign nor faced an enemy. The French and Indians 
were in force on the Ohio. They had already com- 
menced the erection of fort Duquesne, on the site. of 
Pittsburg ; and hearing of the approach of Washing- 
ton sent forward a detachment of French and In- 
dians, to reconnoitre his position. Informed by 
friendly Indians of the secret advance of this detach- 
ment, Washington, who was never taken by surprise, 
forced a march upon them in the night ; and over- 
took them in their place of concealment. A skir- 



39 

mish ensued, in which, with the loss of one man 
killed and two or three wounded, the party of 
French and Indians were defeated ; ten of them be- 
ing killed including their commander Jumonville, 
and twenty-one made prisoners. 

This bold advance, however, was necessarily fol- 
lowed by a hasty retreat. The regiment of Wash- 
ington counted but three hundred ; — the force of the 
French and Indians exceeded a thousand. Wash- 
ington reluctantly fell back to Fort Necessity, a has- 
ty work on the meadows, at the western base of the 
mountains, whose name sufficiently shews the feel- 
ings, with which the youthful commander found him- 
self compelled to occupy it. Here he entrenched 
himself and waited for reinforcements. But before 
they came up, the joint French and Indian army ar- 
rived in the neighborhood of the fort. A sharp ac- 
tion took place, on the third of July, 1754, which 
was kept up the whole day, till late in the evening. 
The American force was considerably reduced ; but 
the French commandeT saw, that he had to do with 
men, who were determined, if pushed to extremi- 
ties, to sell their lives dear. He proposed a capitu- 
lation : a parley was held to settle its terms. A 
captain in the Virginia regiment, and the only man 
in it who understood the French language, was sent 
by Colonel Washington to treat with the French 
commander. The articles of capitulation drawn 
up in French, and treacherously assented to by 
the Virginian captain, contained the assertion, that 
Jumonville, who, as was just observed, fell in 
the late skirmish, was assassinated. These ar- 



40 

tides were interpreted to Washington at mid- 
night, under a drenching rain, among the wrecks 
of the battle, amidst heaps of the dead and dying, 
and after a severe engagement of ten hours. By a 
base mistranslation of the French word that signifies 
assassination, Washington was made to subscribe an 
article, in which the death of Jumonville was called 
by that revolting name. It was not until his return 
to Virginia, that this fraud was detected. On the 
following day, the Fourth of July, in virtue of 
this capitulation, Washington led out the remains of 
his gallant regiment, grieved but not dishonored. 
He conducted them with consummate skill, through 
the ill-restrained bands of Indians, who hovered 
around his march, and brought them safely to Fort 
Cumberland. Heaven had in reserve for him a re- 
compense for the disasters of this mournful fourth of 
July, when, on the return of that day after a lapse 
of twenty-two years, it found him the Commander- 
in-Chief of the Armies of Independent and United 
America. 

These incidents aroused the attention of France 
and England, who yet stood glaring at each other, 
in an attitude of defiance ; reluctant to plunge again 
into the horrors of a general war, but deeply con- 
scious that peace could not be preserved. No for- 
mal declaration of war was made in Europe, but 
both governments prepared for vigorous action in 
America. — Two veteran regiments were sent from 
Great Britain, destined to dislodge the French from 
Ohio. They were placed under the command of 
the brave, head-strong, self-sufficient, and unfortu- 



41 

nate Braddock. By an extraordinary fatality of the 
British councils, — and as if to sow the seeds of di- 
vision and weakness, at a moment when every nerve 
of strength required to be strained, — an ordinance 
for settling the rank of the army was promulgated, 
in virtue of which, all officers holding British com- 
missions were to take rank of all holding provin- 
cial commissions ; and provincial general and field 
officers were to lose their commands, when serving 
with those commissioned by the crown. — Colonel 
Washington on the promulgation of this ill-conceiv- 
ed order resigned his commission in disdain ; — but 
to show that no unworthy motive had prompted that 
step, and happily resolved to persevere in the ar- 
duous school of dear-bought experience, he offigred 
his services to General Braddock, as an aid, — and 
they were gladly accepted. — Washington fell dan- 
gerously sick on the march toward the field of slaugh- 
ter, beyond the mountains ;— but consented to be 
left behind, at the positive instances of the surgeon, 
only on the solemn pledge of the general, that 
he should be sent for before an action. 

Time would fail me to recount the horrors of the 
ninth of July 1755. Washington emaciated, — re- 
duced by fatigue and fever,— ihad joined the army. 
He implored the ill-starred general to send forward 
the Virginia Rangers to scour the forest in advance ; 
he besought him to conciliate the Indians. His 
counsels were unheeded ; the wretched commander 
moved forward to his fate. Washington was often 
heard to say, in the course of his life-time, that the 
most beautiful spectacle he had ever witnessed, was 
6 



42 

that of the British troops on this eventful morning. 
The whole detachment was clad in uniform, and 
moved as in a review, in regular columns, to the 
sound of martial music. The sun gleamed upon 
their burnished arms, the placid Monongahela flow- 
ed upon their right, and the deep, native forest over- 
shadowed them with solemn grandeur, on their left.* 
— It was a bright midsummer's day, and every bosom 
swelled with the confident expectation of victory. 
A few hours pass, and the forest rings with the yell 
of the savage enemy ; — the advance of the British 
army under Colonel Gage, afterwards the governor 
of Massachusetts, is driven back on the main body ; 
— the whole force, panic-struck, — confounded, — and 
disorganized, after a wild and murderous conflict of 
three hours, falls a prey to the invisible foe. — They 
ran before the French and Indians " like sheep be- 
fore the dogs." Of eighty-six officers, sixty-one 
were killed and wounded. The wretched general 
had four horses shot under him, and received at last 
his mortal wound, probably from an outraged provin- 
cial, in his own army. — The Virginia rangers were 
the only part of the force, that behaved with firm- 
ness ; and the disordered retreat of the British vete- 
rans was actually covered by these American militia 
men. — Washington was the guardian angel of the 
day. — He was every where, in the hottest of the 
fight. " I expected every moment," said Dr. Craik, 
his friend, " to see him fall." His voice was the 
only one, which commanded obedience. Two hors- 
es were killed under him, and four bullets passed 

» Sparks' writings of Washington, Vol. II. p. 469. 



43 

through his garments. — No common fortune preserv- 
ed his life. Fifteen years after the battle, Wash- 
ington made a journey to the great Kenhawa, ac- 
companied by Dr. Craik. — While exploring the wil- 
derness, a band of Indians approached them, headed 
by a venerable chief. He told them, by an inter- 
preter, the errand on which he came. " I come, 
said he, to behold my great father Washington. I 
have come a long way, to see him. — I was with the 
French, in the battle of the Monongahela. — 1 saw 
my great father on horseback, in the hottest of the 
battle. I fired my rifle at him many times, and 
bade my young men also fire their rifles at him. — 
But the great spirit turned away the bullets ; — and 
I saw that my great father could not be killed in 
battle." — This anecdote rests on the authority of 
Dr. Craik, the comrade and friend of Washington, 
the physician who closed his eyes. — Who needs 
doubt it ? Six balls took effect on his horses and in 
his garments. Who does not feel the substantial 
truth of the tradition ? — Who, that has a spark of 
patriotic or pious sentiment in his bosom, but feels 
an inward assurance that a Heavenly presence over- 
shadowed that field of blood, and preserved the 
great instrument of future mercies ? — Yes, gallant 
and beloved youth, ride safely as fearlessly through 
that shower of death ! Thou art not destined to 
fall in the morning of life, in this distant wilderness. 
That(wan and wasted countenance shall yet be light- 
ed up with the sunshine of victory and peace ! — 
The days are coming and the years draw nigh, 
when thy heart, now bleeding for thy afflicted coun- 



44 

try, shall swell with joy, as thou leadest forth her 
triumphant hosts, from a War of Independence ! 

From this period, the relation of Washington to 
his country was sealed. It is evident that his char- 
acter, conduct, and preservation, — though he was 
scarcely twenty-three years of age, — had arrested the 
public attention, and awakened thoughtful anticipa- 
tions of his career. I confess there is something, 
which I am unable to fathom, in the hold which he 
seems already to have gained over the minds and 
imaginations of men. Never did victorious Consul 
return to republican Rome, loaded with the spoils 
of conquered provinces, — with captive thousands at 
his chariot wheels, an object of greater confidence and 
respect, — than Washington, at the close of two disas- 
trous campaigns, from one of which he was able to save 
his regiment, only by a painful capitulation, — in the 
other, barely escaping with his life and the wrecks of his 
army. He had formed to himself, on fields of defeat 
and disaster, a reputation for consummate bravery, 
conduct, and patriotism. — A sermon was preached to 
the volunteers of Hanover County, in Virginia, by 
the Rev. Samuel Davis, afterwards President of 
Princeton College, in which he uses this memorable 
language ; " As a remarkable instance of patriotism, 
I may point out to the public that heroic youth, 
Colonel Washington, whom I cannot but hope Prov- 
idence has hitherto preserved, in so signal a manner, 
for some important service to his country." 

The entire completion of this extraordinary pre- 
diction was of course reserved for a future day, but 



45 

from the moment of its utterance its fulfilment be- 
gan. Terror and havock followed at the heels of 
Braddock's defeat. The frontier settlements were 
broken up, — the log-cabins were burned, — their in- 
mates massacred, or driven in dismay across the 
mountains. — A considerable force was raised in Vir- 
ginia, and Washington was appointed its Comman- 
der-in-chief. — But the councils of England were 
weak and irresolute, and no efficient general head as 
yet controlled those of the colonies. — The day star 
of Pitt was near, but had not yet ascended above 
the horizon. — Disaster followed disaster, on the 
frontiers of Virginia, and Washington, for two years 
and a half, was placed in precisely the position, 
which he was afterwards to fill in the revolutionary 
war. A reluctant and undisciplined militia was to 
be kept embodied by personal influence ; without 
pay, without clothes, without arms. — Sent to defend 
an extensive mountain frontier with forces wholly 
inadequate to the object, — the sport of contradicto- 
ry orders from a civil governor inexperienced in war, 
— defrauded by contractors, — tormented with arro- 
gant pretensions of subaltern officers in the royal 
army, — weakened by wholesale desertions in the 
hour of danger, — misrepresented by jealous compet- 
itors, — traduced, — maligned, — the youthful Com- 
mander-in-chief was obliged to foresee every thing, 
— to create every thing, — to endure every thing, — 
to effect every thing, without encouragement, with- 
out means, without co-operation. His correspon- 
dence during the years 1756, and 1757 is, with due 
allowances for the difference of the field of opera- 



46 

tions, the precise counterpart of that of the rev- 
olutionary war, twenty years later. — You see it all, 
— you see the whole man, — in a letter to Governor 
Dinwiddie of the 22d April, 1756 :— 

" Your honor may see to what unhappy straights 
the inhabitants and myself are reduced. I am too 
little acquainted. Sir, with pathetic language, to at- 
tempt a description of the people's distresses, though 
I have a generous soul, sensible of wrongs and 
swelling for redress. But what can I do ? I see 
their situation, know their danger, and participate 
their sufferings, without having it in my power to 
give them farther relief, than uncertain promises. 
In short I see inevitable destruction, in so clear a 
light, that unless vigorous measures are taken by the 
assembly, and speedy assistance sent from below, 
the poor inhabitants that are now in forts must un- 
avoidably fall, while the remainder are flying before 
a barbarous foe. In fine the melancholy situation of 
the people, — the little prospect of assistance, — the 
gross and scandalous abuse cast upon the officers in 
general, — which is reflecting on me in particular for 
suffering misconduct of such extraordinary kinds, — 
and the distant prospect, if any, of gaining honor or 
reputation in the service, cause me to lament the 
hour, that gave me a commission, and would induce 
me, at any other time than this of imminent danger, 
to resign without one hesitating moment, a command 
from which I never expect to reap either honor or 
benefit; but on the contrary have an almost absolute 
certainty of incurring displeasure below, while the 
murder of helpless families may be laid to my ac- 



47 

count here ! The supplicating tears of the women, 
the moving petitions of the men melt me into such 
deadly sorrow, that I solemnly declare, if I know 
my own mind, I could offer myself a willing sacri- 
fice to the butchering enemy, provided that would 
contribute to the people's ease " ! 

And here I close the detail. You behold in this 
one extract your Washington, complete, mature, 
ready for the salvation of his country. The occa- 
sion, that calls him out may come soon or it may 
come late, or it may come both soon and late ; — when- 
ever it comes, he is ready for the work. A mis- 
guided ministry may accelerate or measures of con- 
ciliation retard the struggle ; but its hero is prepared. 
His bow of might is strung and his quiver hangs 
from his shoulders, stored with three-bolted thun- 
ders. The summons to the mighty conflict may 
come the next year, — the next day ; it will find the 
rose of youth on his cheek, but it will find him wise, 
cautious, prudent, and grave : it may come after the 
lapse of time, and find his noble countenance marked 
with the lines of manhood, but it will find him alert, 
vigorous, unexhausted. It may reach him the next 
day on the frontiers in arms for the protection of the 
settlement ; it may reach him at the meridian of life, 
in the retirement of Mount Vernon ; it may reach 
him as he draws near to the grave ; but it will never 
take him by surprise. It may summon him to the 
first Congress at Philadelphia ; it will find him brief 
of speech, in matter weighty ^/pertinent, and full, in 
resolution firm as the perpetual hills, in personal in- 
fluence absolute. It may call him to the command 



48 

of armies ; the generous rashness of youth alone will 
be chastened by the responsibility of his great trust, 
but in all else he shall exhibit unchanged that serene 
and godlike courage, with which he rode unharmed 
through the iron sleet of Braddock's field. It may 
call him to take part in the convention, assembled to 
give a constitution to the rescued and distracted 
country. The soldier has disappeared, the states- 
man, the patriot is at the post of duty; he sits down 
in the humblest seat of the civilian, till in the assem- 
bly of all that is wisest in the land, he by one accord 
is felt the presiding mind. It will call him to the 
highest trust of the new formed government ; he will 
conciliate the affections of the country in the dubi- 
ous trial of the constitution ; and he will organize, 
administer, and lay down the arduous duties of a 
chief magistracy unparalled in its character, without 
even the suspicion of swerving in a single instance 
from the path of rectitude. Lastly the voice of a 
beloved country may call him for a third time, on the 
verge of three score years and ten, to the field. The 
often sacrificed desire for repose, — the number and 
variety of services already performed ; — his declining 
years might seem to exempt him, but he will obey 
the sacred call of his country in his age, as he obeyed 
it in his youth. He gave to his fellow citizens the 
morning, he will give them the evening of his exist- 
ence ; — he will exhaust the last hour of his being, 
and breathe his dying breath, in the service of his 
country. 



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